Under the Weeping Willow
by lovelyindeed
Summary: A DMHG fanfiction. Note the rating. Set in Hermione's sixth year. Six years of Hermione's memory is erased when she is kidnapped to be a whore. What happens when Draco finds her four years later? Nothing too explicit, I promise.
1. Hermione?

This is set in Hermione's sixth year, and is completely different from the HBP.  
Yes, it's a Hermione/Draco Fanfic, my all-time favorite.

**Note:** This is rated M. Don't say I didn't warn you. There is nothing explicit in this first chapter, and I promise it's not too horrible. Please don't delete my story. Besides, after this chapter, the rest will be rated mostly rated T. Give it a chance, and I think you'll like it!  
**Disclaimer:** I definitely do not claim to own Harry Potter. All characters and such belong to JK Rowling, I only borrow them for a little. :)

* * *

Hermione was positively furious. 

It would have been impossible for anyone to not realize it, as her anger radiated off her body in tidal waves and kept everyone backing away from her as far as possible. It wouldn't have been a stretch to say that steam was billowing out of her ears, and electricity crackling through her now straight, long auburn hair.

The summer before sixth year had been good to Hermione, as she had finally bloomed into her figure; medium height, lithe, and graceful. Of course, she would lament over not having "an ass" or "any boobs at all", but deep down even Hermione couldn't deny that she had been receiving more attention than usual from the male population of Hogwarts.

In fact, most of the eyes belonging to the said population were currently trained on Hermione's backside as she angrily strode away. She was always cuter when she was mad.

"Just like Ron to be a royal ass about it. I trust him, Dumbledore trusts him, for HEAVEN'S SAKE even HARRY trusts him! Why can't Ron? I mean, he's come over to our side, given us plenty of vital and useful information, and proven himself time and time again. But noooo, Ron can't let go of a stupid little grudge…"

Hermione was hissing to herself under her breath as she usually did when she was upset.

Finally, Hermione got to where she wanted to be, outside of Hogwarts and into the streets of Hogsmeade. As a sixth year, and especially as a prefect, Hermione was granted weekend access to the wizarding town, and although she usually preferred to spend her time studying or curled up with a good book, she found that she needed the calming effect that the quaint town always had on her.

Finally slowing down, Hermione allowed her breath to slow down to its normal pace.

Just before, Ron had been complaining to Hermione _yet again_ about Draco. Draco had been a spy for the good side for almost a full year now, as it was reaching the end of sixth year, and Hermione completely trusted him. Yet, Ron had to be a royal pain in the arse, always suspicious and snide. If _Harry_ trusted Draco, if _Harry _was _friends_ with Draco, wasn't that proof enough?

Deep down, however, Hermione knew what was bothering Ron. It was a feeling that would never fully leave him alone:

Jealousy.

Ever since they'd heard of the Order, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been trying their hardest to get involved. This year, Dumbledore was finally beginning to let them in on easy missions, but Ron wasn't getting as much glory as Hermione or Harry. Hermione had her smarts, Harry his dueling skills and, well, he was _the Harry Potter_.

And so Ron was rather left alone in the dark as he had always been. Shadowed by his brothers and even his friends. And now, Ron was even shadowed by the man who used to be one of his arch nemesis; Draco Malfoy.

Oh yes, Draco was getting quite a bit of attention in the Order. And reformed bad-guy or not, that still didn't erase the tension between the two. Draco shamelessly flaunted his position and knowledge in front of Ron, watching as his face turned a lovely shade of beet red and his ears began to flame in passionate fury.

Even worse, for Ron at least, Draco and Harry seemed to be hitting it off very well, and were now the very best of friends. Perhaps it's true what people say—that the very deepest of hatred and strongest of love are only separated by a thin, weak line. Draco made no secret of his friendship with Harry in front of Ron. In the public eye, however, things hadn't changed a bit. Which was, of course, necessary to Draco's cover.

And worse. Yes, even worse than the friendship between Draco and Harry, were the clandestine going ons between Draco and Hermione that Ron was beginning to notice.

_Draco…_

Hermione smiled at the name, and the person whom she associated with it. Once Draco had joined the good side, they'd been stuck together for a lot of assignments. Researching, field work, fetching coffee, etc. And in those times together, Hermione began to see a new side of Draco. A Draco with feelings. A Draco with beautiful eyes, a wonderful body, and the sexiest smile in the history of smiles. A Draco whom she could love. A Draco who loved her back.

Yes, it was true. Hermione was deeply in love, and that love was most thankfully returned.

The two kept their feelings a secret from the public, of course, but they found every single possible moment to get together and just spend time with one another. Flirting, smiling, talking, laughing, hugging, touching, kissing…loving.

It was the best feeling Hermione had ever felt before, to be so strongly attracted to someone, and have that person like you back.

Hermione sighed and allowed a smile to rise up to her face.

Draco was the best thing that had happened to her, ever. He was sweet, caring, funny, witty, sarcastic, interesting, intelligent, not overly sappy…

Hermione let out a deep breath, and opened her eyes, which she didn't remember closing.

Where was she?

She seemed to be standing in a dark alley that she did not quite recognize. Fear began to take its place in her heart as she looked around the dark, decrepit alleyway, and tried to make sense of where she was.

Just as she was muttering to herself that she couldn't be too far from Hogsmeade, she was distracted from her thoughts.

A little child was running at her quickly, eyes wide with fear. As the child ran closer, Hermione realized that it was a little girl, about nine or ten years old. Her brown eyes were wide open in terror, and her thin legs were positively trembling with the effort that she put into running away from…well…what?

The girl was very dirty and terribly thin, and there was a rather dead, hollow look in her eyes. Her long brown hair was tangled and matted, and her clothes were shabby and torn.

It is, indeed, impossible to say exactly what transpired in the few seconds that brown eyes met frightened brown eyes, but Hermione had to shake herself out of a slight daze, after the girl had run by.

"You fucking bastard, I go away for five minutes and find you asleep, and the little wretch gone! How fucking retarded can you be?" Hermione's ears perked up and she immediately became alert, and fished around in her robe pocket for her wand. She found nothing and groaned inwardly, realizing that in her mad rush away from Ron, she'd left her wand on the table in the Gryffindor common room.

"I'm sorry, boss! I'm sorry! I'm tired, and you didn't let me get no sleep yesterday, and you's always making me watch the brats and I was tired and I made her promise to be good, and I didn't even know I fell asleep, stupid bitch must have used my wand to free the bindings and…"

"Stop wasting your breath and run faster!"

As 'Boss' finished exclaiming this, the two men finally came into view as they spotted Hermione and turned into the alley in which she stood, trembling slightly.

Were these people kidnappers? Oh, if only she hadn't forgotten her wand! Should she run away, should she try and fight and keep them at bay so the little child could run farther, should she…

"Hey, girlie, you seen a little girl, bout eleven or twelve running by heres? She got brown eyes and hair like yours," said the minion, whom Hermione inwardly named Fatty, as he was incredibly obese. He had come up tottering, breathless, behind Boss, several minutes after Boss stopped in front of Hermione and stood there taking in her appearance.

"No. I haven't seen any little girls," Hermione said firmly, although her feelings betrayed her slightly as her voice quivered a little towards the end of her proclamation.

"Oh, okays. Thank you anyways…"

"Shaddap. She's lying, you idiot. Can't you tell?" interjected Boss, staring hard at Hermione in a way that made her fidget. She suddenly wished that she had just run after the little girl.

"Oh…"

"Okay, girlie. We's gonna ask you one more time. Where'd the girl go?" asked Boss.

Hermione swallowed, and drew herself up to full height. "I have never seen this little girl you're talking about."

"WHERE'S THE GIRL, YOUS LITTLE…"

"Hey, hey, hey, buddy. Cut it out with the yelling. Can't you see you're scaring our little lady here?" said Boss suddenly in a very greasy way that reminded Hermione of the way that Peeves spoke to the Bloody Baron.

"But boss…"

"I SAID SHUT UP," Boss roared, which sufficiently stopped the yapping of Fatty. "Now, Miss Lady, why don't you take a look at this pretty stone I have right heres?"

Hermione was immediately suspicious when she saw the slow look of comprehension that was beginning to ripple over Fatty's face. She had the full intention of looking the other way and running, when she caught in the corner of her eye, the glimmer of a most miraculous stone.

Hermione couldn't help it, her eyes were immediately drawn to the beautiful stone held in Boss's hand. It was a deep black—well, no. Black didn't quite cover it. It was such a deep shade of black that other colours could sometimes be seen swirling inside of it, the darkest shade of pink imaginable, red, blue, green…

Hermione's eyes began to flutter.

"Stone of Murkiras, work your magic. Turn this girl back in age, four years."

As Boss muttered the mantra over and over again under his breath, the stone suddenly began to glow a whitish blue. The light spread over the transfixed Hermione, covering her entirely.

Fatty watched, his mouth watering excitedly, as the sixteen year old girl's profile in the blinding light slowly metamorphed; shorter, rounder, the breasts beginning to shrink into the chest, the nose becoming less pointed…

The light flashed very brightly one more time, before fading away.

"Oblivatiore, seianos," said Boss.

A twelve year old girl lay on the cold, wet ground. Boss had miscalculated her age; she was meant to be a ten year old whore, but Hermione had always been a bit more on the short side.

Still, he had erased six years of her life just to be on the safe side. And so she knew nothing of Hogwarts. She knew nothing of magic. She knew nothing but the muggle world, in which she had always felt so alone and such a stranger. She knew nothing of Harry, Ron, or Dumbledore. She knew nothing of Draco.

Boss laughed. "I knew this would come in handy. Good thing White Boss gave one to us, just in case."

"Yeah, this is perfect. Brown hair, brown eyes child whore, just like Bazto requested."

* * *

Draco sighed and checked his watch, simultaneously pulling his fingers through his blonde hair, although the action was more habit than anything else. 

The fancy clock told him that it was about eleven forty, PM. The time was ripe.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced to the left and right, then entered the dark, musky building in front of him.

On the outside, the building seemed to be nothing more than an old warehouse. Draco knew better, however. He had felt the cheap magical enchantments from a mile away. On the inside however, it was a wild, raucous, disgusting place where perverted wizards traveled from far and wide for a cheap shag. There was a bar and a stage, on which a pair of twins was currently doing a strip-pole-dance, which they were apparently halfway through with.

Draco pushed his way through the sea of horny, rowdy men to the bartender, who was also the owner of this whorehouse. The bartender was a grubby, rather short man, with stubble all over his lower face. One of his eyes looked rather light blue in contrast to his brown one. He was half blind, no doubt, and also a slimy business man. How else could a person run such a business?

"How much for a one-nighter?" Draco asked the bartender casually.

The bartender took in Draco's quality traveling cloak and expensive watch in half a second.

"You's a rich'un. Why'd you come to a shabby joint like dis?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because these shabby joints are harder to track down, and I would rather avoid some people at the finer hotels. The watch I took from a dead man. I won't tell you how he died, but if you're wise, you'll tell me how much it costs for a one night stand," Draco said quite smoothly.

The bartender got the gist quite clearly.

"A galleon for a regular, and five, if you want the cream of my crop."

Draco kept the disgust skillfully off his face, and placed five golden galleons upon the bar.

The bartender quickly snatched them off, and inspected them closely, before nodding to Draco, getting a key, and leading him off to a back portion of the bar, where the pounding music was only slightly muffled. The dirty, decrepit hallway was lit by a few dim candles on rusty candleholders.

Ignoring the rooms from which extremely erotic noises were coming, the bartender led Draco to room 6, opened the door, and told Draco to wait inside.

Draco stepped inside the dirty room, which only had one dingy, uncomfortable looking bed, and a rickety, broken nightstand next to it. Draco shook his head, took off his cloak, and sat down on the bed, his fingers drumming on the bed in a bored fashion.

Within a manner of moments, the door opened again, and the bartender's ugly face appeared in the doorway. "Enjoy," he said, and stepped back.

A long, slender leg, halfway covered by stiletto black boots was the first thing he saw. Then, an extremely short black leather skirt, an extremely flat belly with a silver ring in the belly button, a short black leather halter top which pushed creamy breasts upwards rather alluringly, long, slender arms, a slender neck, and finally, a face that was heavily covered in eyeliner, mascara, rouge, lipstick, and a glittering bronze eyeshadow, framed by long, straight, auburn colored hair.

There was no doubt about it; this alluring young lady, who only looked about fifteen or so, was definitely the bartender's favorite.

Shutting the door behind her in the most seductive way possible, she stalked slowly up to Draco, making sure to move her body in a way that made his eyes follow her every movement.

She placed a manicured hand on his shoulder, and Draco's grey eyes were level with dark brown ones.

"Ooh, you're a good looking one," she cooed, leaning her face closer and closer.

"Stop," Draco said, gently pushing her away.

"Excuse me?" she said, looking rather offended.

Draco pulled out his wand, pointed at the door, and said, "Silencio."

"Ah, I see. Do we have a singer here? You like your privacy huh, sexy thing," she slurred, rubbing herself up against him and purring.

"No. Please, seat yourself," Draco said, disentangling himself from the girl's arms and legs, which had somehow snaked all around him.

"Oh, you'd like me to pleasure you sitting down, first? That's fine with me," she smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs so that her tiny skirt hitched up another inch or so.

"No, I don't want you to pleasure me at all," Draco sighed. "Look, what's your name?"

The girl was obviously getting quite irritated by now. It was clear that she wanted to get things done and over with as soon as possible.

"Ah, a more intimate feeling you want, I see. My name is Mya. What would you like me to call you? Master? Darling? Sex—"

Draco cut her off with a sigh.

"Mya, I'm not here to have sex with you. My name is Draco Malfoy. You can call me Draco. I'm here to close down this illegal whorehouse."

* * *

(Semi-Mya POV) 

Mya couldn't believe her ears. Did this guy think he was funny or something? This…Draco Malfoy? She snorted to herself. What kind of name was that? He must think she was some kind of stupid.

"Look, I don't know what you're up to, but you paid for a one-nighter with me, and…"

"Yes, I paid for a one-nighter with you, but only because I needed more evidence against this place. You know, now that Voldemort's has been defeated, whorehouses have been made illegal. It is my job to track them and close them down. In a few hours, you'll be set free. Let me just contact backup."

Mya watched in a state of disbelief as he picked up his wand and shot something silvery out of it, which flew away in a manner of moments.

"You're actually serious? You're not fucking around with me?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. I'm not… fucking around with you," Draco said, with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

Only a man who had not been looking for a screw would have been able to endure Mya's seduction without even an erection. Mya checked, allowing him to see what she was doing. His pants remained without a bulge.

"You're really serious, huh," Mya said slowly to herself. Freedom. She would be out of this hell-hole that she'd been in for the past four years. But then what would she do? She knew she was a witch by the few instances of unintentional magic that had occurred, but even though she was in a wizard whorehouse, she had never had any opportunity to learn magic. Whores were to be seen, and not heard. To be screwed, and not educated.

Freedom, glorious freedom, would mean that she would belong to no man. That she would never have to go within the vicinity of a man ever again if she chose not to. Oh, the sex hadn't been too bad when the men were good looking, but that obviously wasn't the case. Old, fat, young, or ugly, she'd had to follow orders no matter what, or be starved for the next week of the meager scraps that were supposed to nourish her body.

She could learn if she wanted to. And she did want to. She wanted to learn how to be a witch. She wanted to be able to defend herself with powerful magic, if anyone even hinted at making her commit dirty sexual acts ever again.

She could finally leave the whorehouse, for she had been bound within its borders since she was twelve years old. She knew because the back-washed whores (which was the slang term for someone whose age had been turned back for the purpose of being a child whore) that were picked off streets always had two extra years obliterated from their memory. So that meant that right now she was sixteen.

One more year, and she would be a legal adult.

Until then, she would pursue an education, maybe get a real job, have a real life…

Her eyes were glazed over, her face a perfect personification of elation. Oh, if this Draco Malfoy was not lying, if she really was going to be free, life was going to be so much better. No more sex until her dying day if she wanted. She could live her own life, wonder across the world, do whatever she pleased…

And suddenly, she was seized with such a joy that she leaped up from the bed, and seized Draco Malfoy in a tight embrace.

"Thank you… thank you…" she gasped, as tears spilled from her eyes. "Please, please don't be lying, that would be too cruel… too cruel…"

Draco stood in shock for a moment, and then smiled. These were the rewarding moments of a job like this, which almost everyone else had shied away from. Draco knew that this girl had been through a lot, and unlike most other people in this world, he did not think of her as a dirty or inferior being. She was a woman, a female, a human being.

He gave her hair a gentle stroke.

"No, I'm not lying. You'll be free."

"Draco…"

At the sound of his name from her mouth, Draco suddenly stood bolt still, as if he'd been electrocuted. His hand stopped its comfortable path on her hair, as he slowly, slowly lowered his eyes to the top of this girl's head.

"Hermione?" he whispered, in a low, tremulous voice.

Mya backed away slightly and looked up at him, her expression incredulous, her face looking rather comical with eyeliner and mascara running down her face.

"How do you know my name?"

* * *

Hope you like it! Reviews are appreciated. ) 


	2. Freedom

**A Blurb from Me to You:** Thank you very much to each and every oneof youwho read and reviewed! You guys are splendiferous, and most encouraging. :D  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.

* * *

"_How do you know my name?"_

Draco couldn't bring himself to reply.

Could it be possible?

But yes, it must be! Those were her eyes, those velvety, deep, chocolate brown eyes that always used to sparkle with such vivacity and intelligence. He could still see a shimmer of that old Hermione buried deep within those russet pools, but they were now slightly gazed over with something that he recognized with a start and a horrible rush of pity. It was the look of someone who had been downtrodden for so long, that they had begun to lose all hope.

And although he hadn't recognized it at first in the ludicrous black leather outfit, who else could have such slender limbs, such creamy, soft skin, such lush, inviting lips? Who else could possess such a cute button nose, which scrunched up when the owner was irritated?

How could anyone say that this was _not_ Hermione Granger, hidden as she was beneath layers of makeup and years of pain?

In turn, Mya stared at the tall, lean, man before her. He had the most curious eyes, grey, but at the moment, upon closer inspection, flecked with tiny bits of sapphire blue. He was pale, with blonde hair, and had a rather pointed face. There was no doubting that he was a handsome man, and she estimated that he was about twenty years old. But how did he know her name? And why, in the most curious and disturbing way possible, did he look the tiniest bit familiar?

Before Draco could open his mouth to reply, however, a loud bang, accompanied by several screams, came from the bar. The throbbing music stopped, leaving behind an immediate, eerie, and complete silence.

"That's my cue. The backup's here, and once we've got everybody arrested accordingly, we'll start helping the ladies find a place to stay and get all the legalities worked out. I must ask you to please alert your fellow ladies as to what's going on, and keep them calm. Please keep them from running away, because we're here to help, not hurt."

Mya nodded, looking very dazed.

"Mya…Hermione…I need you to please promise me that you won't leave without seeing me first. If I'm right…if you're really…well, just promise me," Draco implored, his grey eyes begging her chocolate eyes.

"I…I promise…" Mya faltered. Where would she go anyways? This was all so sudden and confusing. And besides, she wanted to know how this handsome man knew her name. Could he know about her past? About the life that had been erased when she had been kidnapped those four long years ago? And why, oh why, did he look so dauntingly familiar, as if she'd seen him in a long forgotten dream?

"I'll be back soon."

* * *

"What the hell is going on?"

Mya snapped out of her musings and looked up to see that she had wandered into the "relaxation room", where all twenty of her fellow whores had been rounded up. The room basically comprised of a couple of rickety sofas and chairs that were too shabby even to be displayed in the bar, which was definitely not one of high caliber to begin with. A couple of three legged tables were also splayed out across the little room, littered with burnt out cigarettes, pads, tampons, and condoms.

The prostitutes themselves ranged from ages ten to sixty three. Most of them were female, but there were two extremely built men in their twenties, who were proudly displayed on Gay Night. In general, Mya was respected amongst the whores for being a natural beauty. She was, however, simultaneously hated for the exact same reason. Each and every one of them was jealous of the Star of the Bar, the Diamond in the Rough, Mya. They would never say it to her face, of course, but many of them often wished she would just drop dead.

The sixty three year old, Margie, was reserved for the sick perverts who had old lady fetishes, and the older men who came seeking someone close to their own age. Margie was a skinny, wrinkled thing, with piercing, intelligent blue eyes and a shock of white permed hair. Being the oldest and having been there since before anyone could remember, Margie was the reigning Queen of the Whores, and very proud she was, too, of her position. She was pampered beyond the other whores, and even seemed to have some authority over Bazto, the bartender and owner of the whorehouse. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever happened without Margie knowing it…that was, until just now, of course.

"I said, what the _fuck_ is going on?" repeated Margie, looking positively livid.

"We're going to be set free," Mya stated softly.

Immediately there was an outbreak of cries.

"What?"

"Girl, you must have been smoking some weed or something. Hit me up!"

"Stop kidding around and tell us what happened, already."

"Don't play like that, girl."

"Silence!" bellowed Marge over the hubbub, and immediately there was quiet once again, although this time the air was filled with uncertainty and hope. "Okay, Mya. I want to know the straight truth, you got that? Now, I ain't askin again. What's happened? Tell us everything you know."

And so Mya told them everything that had happened, leaving out, of course, the fact that the mysterious blonde man knew her name. After she finished there was another uncomfortable silence.

"Did he show you any ID? Any proof that he wasn't just screwing around with you?" Margie finally asked, a strange expression on her face that Mya couldn't quite decipher.

"No…but can't the people who were out there when the bang came and all the music stopped back me up?" Mya retorted, glancing around the room to locate the Acetti sisters, who had been scheduled for pole dancing that evening. Indeed, they were sitting almost naked, in only their thongs, and as they spoke, they picked up raggedy blankets, covered in stains, and draped them around their bony shoulders.

"We was just gettin' our thongs off—" began Alice, who was cut off by Alex as usual. They began talking back and forth as was their habit.

"—when all of a sudden, these wizards in black robes comes bustin' in—"

"—and everyone's a-screamin' 'cause they think that it's the police or summin'—"

"—and I think they was, but they called themselves the "Liberation Force", whatever that means—"

"—and Bazto shut off the music and was tryina sneak outta the back door, but he was stupefied, and then the wizards—"

"—told us to go back for a moment, and not to run off, because they was here to help," finished Alex, a satisfied look on her face.

"So I guess that that blondie Mya was talkin' bouts was tellin' the truth and we's actually gonna get outta this dump!" exclaimed Alice, a surprised, rather scared look on her face.

Mya smiled in relief. So the blonde man hadn't been lying! They were really, spectacularly, truthfully, wonderfully going to be free! They would never have to set foot in this horrible dingy prison again!

She looked around her, a wide smile on her face. The smile faded slightly, however, into a questioning frown, as she observed the expressions on everyone's face. A couple of people amongst the group, especially the newer, younger prostitutes, seemed to be just as excited as she had been to hear the news. Some looked rather as though they'd been bashed over the head, and they looked around confusedly, as though wondering whether this was all some bizarre dream. And everyone else seemed to be… angry.

Angry? How could that be possible?

Amongst the angry, Margie stood out the most. Her bony hands were clutched to form veiny fists, and her eyes were narrowed in a most feline way. Her mouth was a straight, disapproving line, and the force of her anger almost blew Mya away.

"This is an outrage!" Margie finally burst out. Everyone stopped talking at once.

"An outrage?" Mya asked incredulously.

"Yeah, an outrage! These men can't come bloody bustin' in here and set us free like we're some kind of dumb animals. Where we supposed to go? What the hell are we supposed to do? How are we's supposed to find food? Clothing? Shelter? I'm an old bitch now, and I ain't got a thang I can do in the world besides what I do here. I ain't go no home. No talent. And now they're tellin' me I got to leave? Now they're sendin' me off? To where? My death?" Margie cried, her voice growing louder and louder and her face becoming a disturbing shade of puce that Mya had never seen before, at least not on a human face.

"Death? _Death? Dumb animals?_" Mya responded in equal outrage. "The way that they been keepin' us here, caged up, beat, forced to screw them goddamned males, and starved is what I call being made a dumb animal! Food? A few crusts of bread and a piece of spoiled cheese and dirty water? Is that whatchu wanna live offa for the rest of your life? Well I sure as hell don't! That ain't food fit for humans! Yeah, that's right, we're human beings too! Just because they keep up here as their little sex toys doesn't make you or me any less of a human being! And clothing? You call these ridiculous little scraps of cloth clothing? I ain't been warm since I was twelve years old! Shelter? I would rather live in a cardboard box, on the streets, because at least then I would be free! Livin' here ain't livin'! I would rather die free than die here of old age or STD's.

"I want to stand in a meadow where I can't see a man or his fucking dick for as far as the eyes can see, where I can't see these goddamned brick walls. And I wanna sit in the sunlight and feel a real breeze on my skin, not some perverted prick's hot stinky breath. How long you otha bitches been in here? A hella lot longer than I been, some of you. Wouldn't you like the chance, the choice, the ability to say 'No, I don't wanna fuck you, you dumbass'? Because I do. And I'm gonna. And ain't no one gonna stop me from leavin' this fuckin' hell hole, because I'm better than this. Y'all are all better than this," Mya cried passionately, tears streaming down her face as emotions welled up inside her that she'd locked up for four long, hard years.

"I want the ability to say no. I want choice, and I want freedom. I want to belong to nobody but myself, and maybe God. And I know for a fact I wanna get outta this dump," Mya finally finished softly.

Mya slowly relaxed her hands, which she'd realized she'd balled into fists unconsciously during her outburst of anger. She wiped away the tears which had flown down her face, and looked down at her hands. They were dirty, black. Stained with the makeup that was supposed to make her alluring, seductive.

Mya cautiously looked up. The room was deadly silent.

And to her surprise—

They were in tears.

Each and every one of them. All enmity, jealousy, and spite seemed to have melted away, like the eye makeup that streamed down their faces.

They were all just girls. Women. Men. Broken and downtrodden and used for far too long. Not prostitutes, not sex toys. Humans.

Everyone was moved…

Even Margie, who spoke softly, wiping away her own tears.

"Girl, I ain't knowed nothin' but this place for far too long. You're a passionate one, alright, 'cause you've wakened the human in me that's been dead for fifty five long, hard years. You've wakened the human in me."

* * *

It was startlingly hard to say goodbye to the other prostitutes.

Although they had bickered, gossiped, backstabbed, yelled, hit, and stolen from one another, deep down, Mya knew that they had all forged a strong bond. How else could it be, after living with each other for so long, day and night? They had been forced to stay within the whorehouse every living moment of their lives, and even though they grew sick of each other at times, there had been nobody to lean on but each other.

Embracing, speaking soft words, they all said their farewells.

Some opted to have their memories erased. Completely. They wanted to start over again as new people.

Most of the prostitutes, and all the little children, had their memories of the time they had to spend at the whorehouse wiped clean, to prevent mental breakdowns.

Others wanted to keep their memories, as a tribute of all the suffering they had to endure.

They would be returned to their families, who had been notified of their return. Those without families would be sent to a special boarding house, where they would be able to recuperate, maybe get an education, learn how to do a job, and then be sent out into the world to do their best.

Everyone would also be checked for diseases and illnesses for no cost at all.

Mya stood in the back of the line of people being Flooed to their separate destinations.

She cast a long look behind her, at the whorehouse that had been her prison, home, and world for the past four years.

It was the same as ever, dirty, peeling, decrepit, and littered with all kinds of dirty things. But at the same time, it would be forever different. For one, the place was almost entirely empty, except for some more Liberation Force officials. Another thing was that never again would she be forced to stay here, kept caged in like an animal by enchantments and spells. The stage was still littered with clothes from just about everybody, Hermione included. The poles stood lonely and dull. The place was silent, although in the night the air had always been punctuated by erotic screams and pounding music. Prostitutes were forced to be creatures of the night. They slept during the day. Bazto wasn't at his usual place behind the bar, cheating people out of their money, ordering the whores around, and serving liquor to get rowdy men even more rowdy.

"Goodbye. I shan't miss you at all," Mya murmured softly.

"Good evening, Miss. And how would you like your memories?" asked a tall, severe looking blonde woman, sounding rather as though she were talking about eggs and not someone's personal experiences. Mya was half tempted to answer 'scrambled', but that might have sent the wrong message.

"I'd like to keep them," Mya said firmly. She had had her memory erased before, and as sad and horrible as the memories might be, she had no intention of erasing them again.

"You're one of the few," answered the official with a bored expression on her face. "Alright, Miss…err, sorry I didn't catch your name."

"It's Mya…I mean, Hermione Granger. And I didn't give it," Mya answered, distaste firmly stamped across her face.

"Okay. G-R-A-N-G-E-R, I suppose…yes…I see you here…" the blonde woman said. She had typed Mya's name into a little hand held electronic device, which seemed to be scrolling through a list of addresses to find Mya's parental status.

The blonde woman frowned.

"Is there a problem?" Mya finally asked, sounding a bit exasperated.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Your parents are both dead. They were killed by Death Eaters, three years ago."

The strength suddenly drained completely out of Mya, as if someone had pulled a stopper. Her parents… dead?

During the harder times in her stay at the whorehouse, she'd always wondered, and secretly hoped, that her parents would some day come barging in and whisk her away to safety. They had never come, of course, but it was a sustaining thought. She knew that they were both muggles, and hated as they might have been in Bazto's whorehouse, she had loved them dearly. After all, she had only had six years of her memory erased, and she still had all her childhood memories.

"Dead? Really…truthfully…dead?" Mya whispered, too shocked to even shed tears.

"Yes. Dead. I'm sorry. It happened a lot. It was a time of war. So now, you can go to the boarding house, after a quick checkup," stated the blonde woman in a manner-of-fact voice, not looking in the least sorry. This woman had been in the Great War, and was no stranger with death. But Mya was too devastated to care.

"I…"

"Hermione!"

Mya turned around, and actually felt relieved to see Draco running towards her.

"I'm sorry it took me so long, but some of the men put up quite a big fight, saying that they didn't know that being in such a place was illegal and whatnot, so…are you okay?" Draco asked, his face suddenly changing from an apologetic one to a very worried one as he noticed her expression.

"My…my parents…" Mya stuttered, unable to complete the sentence.

"Her parents were both killed by Death Eaters," the blonde woman said in a manner-of-fact voice. "Now, let this young lady go to the boarding house, Draco, so we can all go get some sleep."

Draco frowned at the blonde woman in a rather threatening sort of way.

"Hermione's the last of them, right? Then you can call the announcement that everyone can go home. It would be the greatest favor, Hermione, if you would come with me. I think I have a lot to explain to you," Draco said gently, begging Mya with his eyes to oblige. Mya got the feeling that even if she'd refused, he would have swept her away anyways.

"I promise, I won't do anything to hurt you. No one is _ever_ going to hurt you again," he said softly, gently.

After so many years of harsh words and harsh behavior, this sudden gentleness was almost more than Mya could bear. She could do no more than Mya nod, hardly knowing what she was doing. She barely even knew this man! How could she trust her life to him and not know that he was some sick psycho? Much too tired and emotionally worn out to care any more than that, however, she silently followed the elated looking Mr. Malfoy out through the bar doors into the night. Into freedom.

Mya took a deep, deep breath. There would be time to sort out her thoughts about her parents later. But now, this was a moment that she would treasure for a long time: her first step into freedom.

Myalooked up, and saw that despite the foggy skies of the city, she could still see one star.And even though the air was a bit smoggy with pollution, it was free air, free of the smells of human bodies and all they excreted, free from enslavement. The street on which the whorehouse had been located was, as to be expected, rather grimy, dim,and full of decay, but to Mya, it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

For the first time in four years, she stood outside, and the wind danced with her long, straight hair (which was really rather dirty).

Freedom.

Draco was leading Mya to his fancy black car, when all of a sudden, Mya had an afterthought, and turned around to face the building, Bazto's Bar.

With much gusto, she spat on those dirty, crumbling bricks.

Never again would they stand between her and her freedom.

Following a Draco who was, unbeknownst to Mya, trying very hard to hide his smile, she stepped into the black car, ready to lay in the past all the events of Bazto's Bar, ready to move on with her life, ready to taste freedom, and ready to find out just who this Draco Malfoy was in relation to her.

* * *

How'd you like it? This chapter was to get to know Hermione/Mya a bit better, and to see what life was like for her.  
Starting next chapter, I think I'm going to turn up the grill and get some more Draco/Hermione sizzzle. ;D  
Reviews & constructive criticism are always loved on my part.  
Thanks for reading! 


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